


The Pall of Death

by MrSchimpf



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Drug Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Grief/Mourning, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-11 17:17:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5635288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSchimpf/pseuds/MrSchimpf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paris and Rory try to deal with the death of their lovers in ways that are extreme and could bring them to their own ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pall of Death

**Title: The Pall of Death  
**  
Author: Nate  
 **Pairing:** Paris/Rory, _Gilmore Girls_  
 **Spoilers:** Start of season five with several items changed.  
 **Rating:** NC-17 (extreme dark themes, drug abuse, self harm and dangerous sexual acts)  
 **Disclaimer:** _Gilmore Girls_ is the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino/Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund-Polone and Warner Bros. Television; no attempt to profit is being made.  
 **Archiving:** AO3 and ff.net. Anywhere else, ask first.  
 **Summary:** Paris and Rory try to deal with the death of their lovers in ways that are extreme and could bring them to their own ends.  
 **Author's** **Notes:** This was originally written as part of a LiveJournal drabble challenge in August 2009 with five prompts from Danielle/UbiquitiousMixie; this is three of five. This scene is not for everybody and deals with mourning in a way that many would not be comfortable with, and is an NC-17 scene. I advise you that if you're used to positive Paris/Rory, this is definitely **not** a scene you want to read. But since Danielle asked for angst and mourning, this is what came to mind.  


* * *

 __They remember the positivity in their lives before they left New Haven six months ago. How much of a glow they had about their love lives and how nothing could go wrong for them after they turned in the keys for Durfee 5.

That seems like a lifetime ago. Their new dorm is always dark. Their grades are still high, but there is no passion in their work. Logan Huntzberger never convinced Rory to join the Brigade, because one night away from Paris felt like her soul withered.

She is addicted. In all the wrong ways. Paris questions her religion now. She lashes out against the customs of the faith she used to respect. Her wrist is tattooed with the initials AHF, the love of her life. Her body is always sore, bruised, hurt.

Rory keeps thinking of why she asked Jess to run out for a Slurpee at 3am at an ampm in Mesa. Why it had to be him who took the bullet in front of the clerk after the thief dared him to be a hero. Why he died.

Paris questions how medical science couldn't clearly see that Asher's heart was giving out. Why he never told her. Why he died.

The first day they were back at Yale they seemed happy. Everything was fine.

A week later their respective families held memorial services in separate cities. Both girls went. Both girls wept. Both girls learned then that the grieving process was far from over.

Back in the dorm they hugged. Told each other they'd both be there for each other.

Then something sparked dangerously. Both had withheld their pain. Beneath it all, Paris and Rory lost the loves of their lives. Permanently damaged by both stubbornness and heroics, they were now alone in the world. Marty would never understand. Tristan was a silly childhood fantasy.

They were alone. They needed to feel more than just a dark hole where their souls used to reside.

The kiss was innocent at first. The tears were too. But soon the grief overtook them. All reason went out the window. They pressed body against body, flesh against flesh. Clothes were torn off, underwear shorn. Both women, in the darkness of their lives found they only felt when they had sex.

At first, only once a week. Soon though like a drug they needed more. Studying manifested hate of the outside world. Of how they regarded Par as 'Asher's's last slut.' Or how Taylor forced Luke to buy only a simple gravestone to mark Jess's grave by town proclamation, saying his memory should not be honored. Or how Dean told her he was glad 'the bastard' was dead, an outburst which earned him a broken jaw from Paris's doing.

They withered within. Only in bed could they feel anything at all. Rory at first was content with simple fucking, but soon asked for it rougher. Paris obliged her. She did not judge. The girls wouldn't talk, just go with the waves they felt as clit slammed against clit. Their room was ignored, personal effects still boxed. The door remained ever locked, no one able to intrude because of an illegally installed slide lock on the inside part of the door. It allowed them to revel in the darkness of their relationship.

Paris felt stiff after they fucked. Her sweaters hid the scars of Rory sliding her nails down her back, of having a lust of seeing her friend bleed when pricked by one of the needles of her craft corner. She had cum hard when she begged Rory to press the tip of her glue gun, plugged in, upon her midriff, letting the slightly heated substance slither across her body. Both of them enjoyed exploring pain, wanting to feel what their men did in the last moments of their lives. Rory got off from Paris pulling her hair and penetrating her from behind with an unlubricated strap-on, saying it made her feel. When she let her bladder go after one very deep thrust once she felt more alive pissing the bed for Paris's demented pleasure than she had giving her graduation speech.

She never knew she could be so dark. It had been so unpredictable that their combined mourning had turned from more than comfort, and into an addiction. She could no longer feel unless Paris was fucking her. And she knew the other woman was the same way.

They were miserable together. Both flirted the line between life and death. Paris had faked needing an increase in her medication, finding that when Rory had snuck a couple of her Paxils and Dexedrine from her prescription bottle, she wanted to let go even more when they fucked. They knew they were being reckless, even dangerous about how they made love. No questions were asked when Paris swiped some Viagra from her mother's boyfriend's pill bottle so she and Rory could try it out. They almost passed out though from that and knew that Paris's drugs were enough.

Rory was scarred. Her body was dangerously thin. Paris had lost a full cup size and twenty pounds in four months. Both of them picked at their food, only eating enough to keep hunger at bay. Often Rory would dream of having been knocked up, wishing for a better fate than mourning Jess alone. Paris wished she had the courage to go through with killing herself after she found Asher lifeless, to see her blood spill until she fainted dead. It was dangerous thinking. But if they were both the only ones who cared, it didn't matter.

Their mothers were worried. So too were Janet and Tanna. Both women knew eventually their scars and sores would be discovered and that their grades would soon suffer. But as Rory pushed eleven inches of blue rubber within her roommate's cunt, pressing against her cervix with heavy force, she at least in that moment could see Jess waving from afar in heaven as her vision turned white.

One day she would see him again. So Paris would see Asher. But for now, sex in their mourning was the closest thing to feeling the girls could share with each other. As she felt Paris bite at her tit, she felt better in her small little world of the dark dorm, her ass pressed against the cold plate of the printing press bequeathed upon her friend than she ever could again within the insular safety of the Hollow.   



End file.
